


You Only Answer After the Third Ring When You're in a Shit Mood

by Draikinator



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, PWP, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, happy dratchet???, i literally dont know what im doing, post-eos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>okay if you want to click this go ahead but only do so with the knowledge that i am very bad at writing smut and i screamed the entire time i was writing this please be nice to me i am just a simple egg trying to create decent dratchet smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Only Answer After the Third Ring When You're in a Shit Mood

Ratchet woke to the ping of the autopilot, alerting him they were within hailing range of their destination. He gauged it from the backside of the shuttle, a little outside of arm's reach, but not of immediate importance. He leaned over the berth and considered his other arm. He could dislodge it from under drift if he wanted, but he was trying to be nicer to peole he cared about for once and that was probably going to lose him points.

He leaned back down and pressed his cheek against his shoulder, watching Drift's face, soft in slumber. It was an almost odd look for him- Ratchet would have thought 'serene' and 'peaceful' would have been a familiar emotion to see on him, considering all his yoga mumbo jumbo and how much it seemed to praise serenity, and yet- this sort of lax, emotionless peace was strange, unfamiliar. Drift never looked this unburdoned. While perhaps a good thing, it made Ratchet uncomfortable, and he pressed the tab of his chevron to Drift's forehead, running one hand gently down an audial fin before, hesitantly, letting it come to a stop on the side of his face, thumb circling his cheek slowly. Drift smiled and shifted, still in recharge, and tilted his head into the touch softly.

Ratchet was about to say something, maybe good morning, but he wasn't sure, because Drift leaned up, optics still shut, and pressed their lips together.

Ratchet froze. They hadn't done that yet. They'd spent the last two nights on the shuttle huddled in the single bed, pressed together and either quietly enjoying one another's presence or stubbornly refuse to talk about their feelings no matter how obvious they were, but Ratchet was unsure which. He hesitated, not sure Drift was actually awake, but he pulled back, smiling beneath the low glow of yellow optics and looking at him like he was Primus himself.

He squirmed his arm out from under Drift and cupped his face with both hands, leaning back to pick up where they'd left off.

At some point the commlink beeped again and Ratchet ignored it, instead focusing on the warm mass of metal wriggling into him in a sort of quiet desperation, running his hands up the sides of his blocky frame like he actually liked it. Without even realizing it, he'd somehow ended up on top of him, his hands pressed to the berth on either side of Drift's helm, knees spread and digging into the berth on either side of his hips. Their kiss was getting sloppy, and Drift's knee kept inching upward, smoothing plastic headlights polymers gliding against the dinged and dented red metal of his inside thighs with obvious intentions.

He redirected, pressing soft kisses to Drift's neck cabling and scooting backward even in the limited space. Drift sort of half sat up, his face pulled into a quizzical expression, when Ratchet reached his panel, already hot, and mouthed at the seams. Drift's head fell back against the wall with a thunk that made Ratchet look up in concern and a high pitched, out of character mew that made him resume, digging his fingers into the rotary joints of Drift's thighs and the red lip of metal over his lights.

The mood had definitely changed and there was something very liberating about the shk of Drift's panel snapping open, bearing an already moist and dripping valve, all soft white walls and silver mesh, dull pink viscous lubricant lining the rim, but Ratchet sti bit his tongue and crawled back up to cup Drift's face and kiss him again, panting despite himself.

"Did you, um," he started, frowning, uncomfortably out of practice and not used to this, "Are you sure?"

He was expecting a serious response, appropriate for the intensity of the moment, but Drift just rolled his optics and whispered, "Idiot," before mashing their faces back together and snaking one hand down to palm at Ratchet's panel that opened to his touch really without his permission.

Ratchet stammered something wordless and flustered, losing a bit of his confidence, before melting into the feeling, leaning his weight onto his palms, pressed against the wall behind Drift and scooting his hips forward into his lap.

Ratchet grunted something low and pleased, Drift's thumb rubbing the head of his pressuring spike, fingers alternating pressure in a weirdly delightful way along the white and red ribbed shaft.

"Ah- ah, Drift-" he gasped, twitching his hips into his hand and Drift snorted.

"Is that really all it takes to get your engines revving?" Drift chuckled, a cheeky grin on his pink-tinted faceplates. Ratchet jerked straight and huffed, despite himself.

"It's- it's been kind of- ah- awhile," he admitted, trying and failing not to buck into the steadily quickening movements, before he gave a full body shudder as Drift traced his thumb over the slit, and he yanked his hips back, scooting back down to his original position between Drift's thighs.

"Has it? I couldn't t-" Ratchet cut Drift's charming commentary off, exventing warm air over Drift's open valve and pressing his glossae against the plush inner lips. Drift let his words die before they passed his dentae, dissolving into a delicious moan that made it clear he wasn't in the mood for banter.

Drift let his legs open up and Ratchet hefted his knees over his shoulders, suckling at the soft mesh while Drift panted in a way that suggested he was trying very, very hard to keep his voice down, something he entirely abandoned when Ratchet's thumbs found the folds of the lips of his valve and spread them wide, dipping his tongue in and up deftly. Drift practically crowed, a sound that actually had Ratchet laughing, but he covered it up by shifting back on his knees and leaning back up to kiss him, helping him scoot his back against the wall, the taste of his fluids still in his mouth.

Ratchet fumbled one hand between their superheated pelvises, groping for the end of his spike and rubbing it against the moist and welcoming opening between Drift's spread thighs, the other holding his hips back against the wall despite their twitching, aborted bucks.

"Ah, frag-" Drift whined into Ratchet's neck when he finally slipped inside, shifting his legs under Drift's, "That's s- so much, ah, better, than I thought it would be."

Ratchet wasn’t entirely certain how to respond to that other than to say, “Good,” and thrust his hips forward sharply, to the hilt, and Drift clung to Ratchet’s neck with a breathy moan and a high pitched cry, jerking his hips into the fluid pace Ratchet was setting, before his grip tightened, fingers clenching on nothing and he bit down on Ratchet’s should, muffling a very loud cry very poorly as he came, hard, valve calipers cycling down and thighs clenching together around Ratchet between them. The motion sort of ruined Ratchet’s rhythm, but he thrust twice more, jerkily, sharply and came, too, with a growl, panting and trying not to collapse on top of Drift, who’d dissolved into a fit of shallow, breathy giggles.

“Do you, you ever take anything seriously?” Ratchet asked between breaths, burying the crook of his chin in Drift’s shoulder.

“Not, uh, not when you’re in the room,” Drift giggled, letting his optics shutter.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear,” Ratchet sighed, finally leaning back and pulling out, half scooting and half falling onto his back. Drift stretched both arms up and flopped over next to him, immediately nuzzling into the glass windshield of Ratchet’s chest.

“Almost definitely,” He agreed with a playful smile and Ratchet rolled his optics. The commlink on the ship’s dashboard beeped again, but he’d deal with that later.

 

 


End file.
